Mon Cheri
by BellatrixLestrangey
Summary: Nerissa is a succubus and Icy has the misfortune of finding out.


**The more uncensored version is on tumblr.**

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Her eyes were a blue as vivid as Icy's were pale. That's where the initial allure had come from, this strangely primitive need to mingle sapphire shades with frosty pastels. She was an older woman, older than Icy anyhow, and that's where the second intrigue stemmed from. The third? That was the woman's overall atmosphere; she seemed to radiate something deeply dark and richly powerful. She was like Darcy but with a touch of uncanny wisdom. Undoubtedly, she has seen things many people haven't the chance.

Why the woman chose dwell on Earth, Icy—reaped of her magic and forced to spend her time there—had yet to piece together, somehow, she didn't want to. She wanted to keep as much mystery to the woman as possible. That was her appeal. Icy didn't hadn't known if she'd even wanted a name, but she had gotten one. Nerissa, the woman was Nerissa. Nerissa who fancied expensive champagnes and fine satin cloth.

For nights Icy had spent her time in a lavish manor, gothic in nature with towering spires and arching columns. Fixed into the exterior walls were carved mid-relief murals; many featured horn beings with mouthfuls of gore. Others depicted darkly angelic beings with sweeping feathered. One or two displayed a bare-chested woman in the sensual grasp of another more imposing woman. Above the main door was an elegant mascaron; the beautiful but dismal face of a woman, eyes closed and stained in such a way that it seemed as though she were weeping. Every other spire hosted a sitting place for bat-winged gargoyles with uncannily human faces. It was the kind of place Icy would have chosen given the cash to do so, though she thought that the place could use a touch of winter.

The woman had lead her through the doors to reveal an interior was wrought with crystalline chandeliers fixed into a coffered ceiling that cast prismic fractals. The walls were pocked with niches that housed candles in onyx's holders, decorative champagne flutes, ornate boxes, and other trinkets. Every single door Icy made her way through was of ebony wood and accented by lace-like steel. She turned knobs of ruby. This woman had expensive taste and the funding to support it.

On most nights Nerissa would pick her way through a book with old spines and foreign text. Maybe French, maybe Latin. Icy had only a very basic inkling about the languages of Earth. The dark-haired woman spoke little but when she did, it was in a very thick Greek tongue. Another mystery, as they were nestled deep within the wooded Krkonoše mountains of The Czech Republic. Icy decided that the woman must study in linguistics.

Nerissa eyed her from across the room, tapping well-manicured and graceful fingers atop her armrests. With every dull motion, one of her jeweled rings would catch the light and cast a new array of rainbow reflections. She stole a sip from her goblet, a dribble of red graced the corner of her mouth, but only briefly before she licked it away.

"What language is that?" Icy finally questioned.

The woman brought her pointer to her lips, apparently, she had a silence that she wanted to uphold. Her gaze fell back to the book in question, leaving Icy to cross her arms impatiently. The woman was interesting, but she wanted words, a story, anything. She was left with much time to explore and had already found herself the wine cellar teeming with casks of all sizes. That became her source of entertainment for much of her stay until Nerissa finally beckoned her over. With a curling finger she whispered, "come now, mon chéri." Icy held her place, she'd never heard the French language on a Greek tongue. "Mon chéri, it will be a fine night."

A fine night indeed, Icy decided. The woman had a nice face—high cheekbones and an accented jawline—and a supple body. The former witch wasn't one for feelings, love was a waste, but it would be a bigger waste to reject such a tantalizing offer. She hadn't a good fling since Valtor. She scarcely knew Nerissa, but those eyes, those deep blue eyes, they had a way of drawing her in. And that low purring, "mon chéri…."

She was giving Darcy a run for her money.

Just one night, one simple night and Icy would be on her way.

Icy stood, allowing her leather jacket to slip from her shoulders. She turned in the direction of the bedroom.

A hand curled over her shoulder. She could feel hot breath on her ear and the softness of the woman's chest on her back. "Non, mon chéri. Non, we will stay right here." Those long nails grazed Icy's shoulder blade.

Frankly, it didn't matter to Icy at all where it happened as long as it did. "Fine, right here then." She shoved the woman roughly back into her armchair and tugged at her corset.

"You are bold, mon chéri." Nerissa commented. Her expression told Icy nothing of whether or not that was a good thing. "Trés audacieux." She traced her fingers up Icy's sides before dipping them under the hem of her shirt. With an unexpected force and speed, she threw the former ice witch to the floor and traced her cheek bone with her pointer.

Whatever the woman was saying, Icy felt inclined to agree. Whatever the woman was doing, she was—for once, content to comply. "Go on then, pleasure me."

Without a hesitation to make, Nerissa complied. The woman was anything but delicate. Icy arched back, "shit!" The woman knew her way about a body and mercilessly, the ice witch had no sheets to grab. Nothing to take the edge off, not that she particularly wanted to. Instead she dug her hands into the other woman's hair. Icy pulled herself up enough to bite the woman's neck.

"Très bien, mon chéri." She mumbled, "you know what you're doing."

Icy offered a decent smirk as she moved her hands to the woman's chest. She decided that she would let Nerissa deliver the pleasure, typically Icy herself never got the chance to be on the receiving end. Shuddering with hot euphoria she let the woman slid her graceful tongue over down her neck and over her chest.

A fine night indeed.

Nerissa's free hand brushed a few locks from Icy's face. The gesture was unexpectedly passionate. The woman's other hand came to cup Icy's chin, holding her steady and pressing a kiss to her lips.

A very fine night.

To say that Icy woke up was a bit of a stretch. She half woke on the floor of the living room. Her mind was dazed, low in functioning. Peculiarly low, she'd had her share of good, long, nights but they had never left her quite so drained. Quite so fuzzy. She ran her hands through her tangled locks as she scanned the room. Nerissa was still there, a silk bathrobe wrapped around her generous figure. On top of that wrapped a feathered blanket. "Good morning, mon chéri." She drawled her greeting. Icy's head dipped before she could return it. "You have a delicious âme."

Icy narrowed her eyes and cocked her head.

"Your soul, mon chéri. Your âme." She paused. "It tastes good."

It wasn't a blanket at all, Icy realized. It was a set of inky wings. The comprehension must have made it to her eyes, for Nerissa shed her human guise in full. Those tantalizingly blue eyes, were now unearthly so with flecks of purple. She unfurled those wings and ran a hand over obsidian colored horns. "Do you regret, mon chéri?"

At Cloud Tower, she'd been taught of the succubi many a times. She'd laughed alongside her peers at the fools in the tales who'd fell to the seduction of a wicked succubus. And now she'd be leaving Earth with half a soul or less and another story for the witches to study. Or perhaps not at all. She did not regret. She had enjoyed. She wanted to keep enjoying despite the screams of what was left of her soul and essence.

With her pointer alone, Nerissa tilted Icy's head up and looked deep into those now foggy, frosty blue eyes. "Splendid, mon chéri."


End file.
